The Belle of the Ball
by itsarrowbaby
Summary: The Queen's are hosting a ball, but Felicity doesn't want to join the festivities. Oliver goes to find her to find out why, but gets rather more than he bargained for... Smut will ensue in later chapters. Olicity all the way.


**Hi guys, gosh I'm so excited that so many of you have read my story – that's amazing! I've only written a couple of things for Olicity so far, so it would be great to hear your thoughts if you had time to leave a review! Thanks for reading, a new chapter will be up before long... :)****  
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'You hiding?' Oliver Queen stuck his head around one of the oak doors at the Queen mansion, peering into one of the many reception rooms in his house, a smaller quieter one, a little distance from where the sound of tinkling glasses and music revealed the lavish party going on in another part of the mansion.

'Hmm, kind of', came the distracted reply.

'Hey, What's up? Avoiding my dear mother?' He entered the room and stopped behind her, momentarily struck by how spectacular she looked - she was standing with her back to him, framed by the window, looking out over the dark grounds absentmindedly. Her golden hair, usually teased with curls, was ironed poker sleek, and was gathered so it fell in a long shiny length over one shoulder, revealing an elegant expanse of tanned neck. He had a sudden impulse to walk up behind her and nuzzle into that neck - he momentarily wondered what she'd smell like, whether she'd be wearing her usual perfume or a different, heavier one, to match the glamour of the evening. He shook his head to knock himself out of his short reverie. Felicity continued to gaze out of the window, oblivious.

'Not just her. I realised out there, most of the people here work for QC, which means they all think I'm your bit-on-the-side assistant or whatever...' She sighed, and angled her head so it rested on the window panel in front of her.

'You can't be a bit-on-the-side if I don't have a main course', Oliver tried to lighten the mood with teasing, but the way her head shot up and she spun to face him, blue eyes flinty, he knew the humour had been poorly judged,

'It's not funny Oliver! It's ok for you, you get to prove to people that you 're not the reckless playboy they thought, you get to be the respected, successful businessman... I get to have people think I slept my way to the top.' She spat out the last few words, angry now.

Her noticed her eyes were flashing, and her cheeks were flushed. He noticed that her lips were a vivid scarlet, and her eyes dramatically lined with black. But mostly, he noticed the dress she was wearing. Black from head to toe, sinfully fitted over athletic, firm curves, it skimmed and clung in a way that made him inhale sharply. He'd seen earlier that a silver zip ran from between her shoulder blades all the way down the length of the dress at the back, to the floor, and from the front sheer lace covered her sleeves and chest, just hinting at what lay beneath, followed by a column of inky blackness that eventually gave way at the side to reveal a long, toned and tan leg. She looked incredible.

He tried to concentrate on what she was saying;

'You know, I got a full scholarship to MIT. I worked two jobs to put myself through college and still came out with $135k of debt, and I was ok with that because I was doing something I loved and was proud of. And now,' she sighed, 'having all my colleagues think I'm basically your'...she searched for the words, gesticulating with her hands, 'hired mistress, its humiliating Oliver!'

For a moment, his mind flashed back to the last time she'd come to a black tie party at the mansion, and was a vision in pink, and his brow crinkled when he realised what a transformation had occurred since. It had been a trying few months - they'd fought a lot, lost a lot and won just barely enough to keep their heads above water.

The thought occurred to him that the Felicity in front of him - this elegant, powerfully sexy, confident woman, was a far cry from the gentle and somehow innocent Felicity who'd gazed at Barry as they glided across a dance floor just a few short months ago. He felt a twinge of guilt as he realised that being part of his team had changed her - hardened her somehow. Made her deal with things she'd never have had to experience otherwise. It seemed to him women always suffered through his proximity, even if he'd fought to keep her protected, and somewhat at arms length.

'Felicity - I'm sorry, I really am. It's my fault, if I hadn't been such a well, selfish mess, before the island, no one would assume that we were, you know...a thing. I'm sorry you're not doing the job you love either...'

'Oh, I am.' Her voice was clear and certain. 'I love the real work - the foundry stuff. That's the real me.' She paused, and pinned those blue eyes on his, 'Do you feel most yourself when you're in the hood?'

'No. The hood is a persona as much as the business suits. I feel most myself in the foundry with you and Digg. Or now here with you. I feel most myself with you. You know me. You know who I am'

Strains of music, the live band were gathering steam in the other room, reached them - 'Hey, I have an idea'. He reached out and took her hand in his - 'Oliver?' He quirked an eyebrow at her and said, 'do you trust me, Felicity?' She only tilted her head at him and rolled her eyes in response, her absolute trust in him implicit at his point.

'Ok then, Ms Smoak, will you do me the honour of this dance?' He nodded his head at the dance floor in the room next door, 'really Oliver? Is that going to put the rumour mill to rest? I think not'

'Hmm, well, Oliver Queen surely wouldn't dance in public with his 'hired mistress' right? At a party thrown by his own mother? In front of all Starling City high society and god-knows how many Queen Consolidated employees? Come on. Let's show them how it's done'

At least a hundred pairs of eyes turned to look at them, as Oliver Queen, looking every inch the handsome catch he is in his exquisite tux, swept onto the dancefloor with the statuesque blond on his arm - double takes were taken when the QC crowd realised the angel on his arm was none other than the infamous Ms Smoak of IT-cubicle-turned-penthouse-office-fame. Strains of Etta James' 'At Last' came from the string section of the orchestra as Oliver elaborately swept Felicity into his arms, holding her firmly against him for all the room to see, and with a hand nudged at the bottom of her back, they fell into a natural rhythm, swaying to the music.

Felicity let the singer's honeyed voice wash over her, as she settled into Oliver's arms. Her nose seemed to have nuzzled itself into his neck, where she was enjoyed finding out where his stubble turned into smooth skin. Taking a deep breath, she inhaled the heady scent that she so associated with her friend, boss, partner-in-crime. He was holding her close, their bodies connected full length, and the firm hand on her back had a thumb that was rubbing gentle circles, lulling her into an exquisitely heightened sensitivity. She realised her heart was pounding and electricity was thrumbing throughout her whole body, although she was also suddenly deliciously relaxed.

Raising her head slightly, she nudged her nose so it ran gently along his jaw, enjoying feeling his hand tighten against her in response. She felt, rather than saw, Oliver swallow and angle his head in such a way that allowed her to nuzzle in closer to his neck. The song swirled on, and they were in their own world for a moment, her head came to rest on his shoulder, exposing that long line of neck he'd been distracted by earlier to him. Eyes closed, he followed the curve of her neck from collarbone to jaw, until he felt his nose nudge against hers. On opening his eyes, he found himself looking straight into pools of sparkly blue, shockingly close. Their lips had somehow ended up within a couple of inches of each other - he looked down at them, very very aware of how good she felt, pressed up against him chest to hip, and licked his own lips - all it would take was a slight tilt of his head and they'd be...

'Mr Queeeeen! How fabulous to see you!' Oliver was jolted out of his very tempting reverie by the loud arrival of Mrs Walsh - a filthy rich, and richly undeserving friend of his mothers...'Oliver, we simply must discuss your involvement with my little summer party, it would be wonderful to have such a handsome young man in attendance!' Mrs Walsh had somehow managed to untangle him and Felicity with her interruption and was barreling him away across the dance floor, loudly protesting about something or other before he'd had a chance to take a breath.

He turned her around and peered past the substantial woman to try and get a look at where Felicity had gone and noticed her standing stock still, still in the spot where they'd been so rudely interrupted a moment before. She was looking at him with a steady intensity across the crowd of people. There was a look on her face that he didn't recognize, but it made his pulse quicken. And then, she turned and swept through the crowd, he craned his head to keep her in sight as long as possible, but before he knew it, she'd melted into the crowd and away.

It had been several hours since Felicity and Oliver had forgotten about the rest of the world while dancing together at the Queen party. Oliver had spent the rest of the night distractedly making idle small talk with their guests, all the time trying to catch a glimpse of Felicity. Eventually, he'd found Digg, who said he'd taken her home a while before. Oliver had tried to ignore the twinge of disappointment at the news.

He was in his bedroom, winding down from the evening. He'd taken his tux jacket off and tossed it over a chair, and untied his bow tie and top button, but was otherwise the same as he'd been earlier. He checked his phone to note that there was no urgent Arrow-ing to be done that evening, and was grateful that all looked quiet. He was tired, and a little discombobulated by the confusing turn of events earlier in the night. He'd always been very fond of Felicity, and recognised that she was an attractive woman, but he'd tried so hard to push those feelings away - for her own safety as much as anything - that he was a bit turned around by the memory of her lips pressed into his neck while he held her firm, lithe body against his...

He sighed and tugged harder at his bow tie to try and dislodge the thought, no good would come of dwelling on that..he slumped down on the chair and closed his eyes.

'Hey'. He jumped - it had been a long time since anyone had successfully crept up on him, and he spun round to see the source of the voice - although of course, he already knew, had known as soon as the word left her mouth. What on earth was she doing here?!


End file.
